Breakdown
by SniperCT
Summary: Inspired by the Rise of the Tomb Raider trailer and artwork by okh-eshivar on Tumblr. Lara's pulling away, and Sam is terrified she's going to lose her.
1. Trapped in the Ice

_**(inspired by the Rise trailer and okh-eshivar's artwork On tumblr)**_

* * *

You're sitting there, with your knee bouncing in an erratic rhythm. The stains on your clothing are dark red going on brown and you're hiding in your hood like the world can't find you there. I don't know what you've been doing, or who you've hurt. Getting closer to you I see the knife in your hands. You're holding the point against the palm of your hand, and twisting the blade back and forth. Your knuckles are bruised, and you don't look at me. You never look at me anymore.

It's like everything has finally caught up to you. You don't hold me in your sleep anymore. My arm aches from the bruises you left, but the look on your face when you realized you were hurting me stung more.

"Lara…"

You don't seem to hear me. I don't know who you _are_ any more. I need you, I need you like I need _water_ to live and you're too far away to reach. I watch that knife drill into your hand and I'm helpless.

I touch your shoulder. It's stupid, it's dangerous when you're like this and when I blink the knife is at my throat. But you see me. You _finally_ see me for the first time all night. Your eyes sharpen, as though the haze in front of them has lifted. You pull away, but I grab your wrist and hold you tight. It's not like you couldn't break my grip. You're stronger than me.

Your eyes follow the droplets of blood that run down the knife. I know what you're thinking. You could slit my throat in an instant. Even on accident, if you try to fight me. You say my name. Despair and self-loathing and you've given up and you've _given up_ and that _scares_ me. Your grip on the knife loosens, and I take it away from you. My neck stings, but I ignore it. You're not ignoring it, you're still staring at it, even as I lift your hand to look at the cut in your palm. It's deep, and it looks like you've been doing this to yourself for awhile. I'm an idiot, I think. How could I have missed this?

"I'm sorry." Your voice is a whisper and I don't know what to say or do that will keep you from leaving me. I know you. I know you better than anyone, I know you better than I know myself and I don't know who you are anymore.

"It's okay. I know you don't mean it."

"I'm going to hurt you. I _have_, hurt you! What if it gets worse what if…!" Your free hand touches the cut on my neck, and you look at the blood, slick on your fingers. "I can't see people as anything but prey anymore. I close my eyes and I'm back there again. I close my eyes and I'm going to lose you and nothing matters any more."

Helplessly, I open my mouth, and then I close it again.

"I feel like even you're giving up on me. And if you give up on me, than who will I be?"

"You could get help," I say, for the hundredth time. You refuse. You always refuse. You're not crazy, you say, you're not, but sweetie, we've both lost our minds, I'm just the only one willing to admit it. "_Please._ It helps. It _really_ does. Even if it won't seem like it at first."

"Why?" You wipe your hand on your sweater. I still can't tell if the blood is yours or someone else's and something inside me tightens up a little. I want to clean you up, take care of you, tell you I love you. "What's the bloody point?"

What's the point? What's the fucking point? I don't think I can take this anymore. I must be gaping at you because you recoil. When I grab your wrist you tense, your muscles coiling. You're like an animal, one that's trapped and broken and pushed to the edge and maybe this will be the time you actually hit me. "The only one who can help you is _you!_ I've tried and I've tried and you push me away like I don't mean a goddamn thing! If you want to push me away then it's working! But I'm still here. Do you think Roth died so you could lose yourself? So you could turn into a monster? Do you think I almost became _possessed twice_ for that? Do you have any idea how I can't sleep at night, knowing that everything you've gone through is _my fault_ and you're not even there any more to make it all better! What you're doing, what you mean to me, you don't even understand what you're doing to _us_!"

Your grip is so strong, and you're so fast that my back is against the wall before I realize you've moved. Your lips are so close to mine that I can taste them. Tears run down my cheeks like burning rivers and your face is just as wet. "You have _no right_!"

"I'm not wrong. Roth wouldn't want to see you like this either." I don't care anymore. No, that's a lie. I care, I care too much, I just don't know if I have the willpower left. Words aren't working, or I'm just not saying the right ones. I'm going to lose you in the next few minutes, so the only thing I can think of to do is kiss you.

Your shock registers in the way you stiffen. I half expect you to bite me, or to shove away from me, but instead you press into me. Your lips are hesitant and shaky, and it only takes a few moments before the shaking reaches your shoulders, and then your legs. We slide to the ground, my arms around you, and you break the kiss as the first painful sob comes out of your throat.

I pull your head down against my chest. You make another sound, and then another, a soft, muffled wail into my breast. You've been holding in all your pain and all your anger and all your fears and one kiss wore away the fragile wall you'd built. I lean my head back against the wall, looking up at the stars as you shudder against me.

You're going to be embarrassed later. We'll probably laugh it off. But I know you haven't let yourself feel any of this until now. And I know I'm not going to let you go. Not now, and not ever. When you lift your head, and you look at me, you really _look_ at me. Like how you used to, like how things are supposed to be. You're not better yet. You're still a bundle of energy needing an escape, you're still trying to keep ahead of the wave that's trying to drown you, but there's hope.

"Sam…" You sigh, and in that sound I realize you've given in. "Okay. You win."


	2. The Perfect Shot

_**(AN: This was originally meant to be a one shot, but I enjoyed experimenting with this writing style. So this time from Lara's perspective!)**_

* * *

I notice it in the way you're always playing with your camera. You fidget, tweaking apertures and playing with the focus as though you're trying to find the perfect settings to line up the perfect shot, but you no matter how many shots you take, you never find the one you're looking for.

I catch you looking at me through the lens. It's nothing unusual, you've always done so, but now you have an unusually tense look on your face. What do I look like to you? Broken? A shattered psyche with ghosts in my eyes?

You've made sure I've kept my promise. I don't...really know if it's helped. But it matters to you, and that makes it matter to me, and maybe I actually believe some of it. I see the things in you that you've seen in me, the cracks in your breath, the nightmares that keep you awake.

You stare at me through that lens, and I can feel the tension in the air. Like something shifts. You set the camera aside and scoot along the couch until you're next to me. You've missed this, you don't need to tell me that with words. And you know I have too. The closeness, the old normal that you've tried _so hard_ to reclaim. You put your arms around me, and your breath is hot against my neck.

We're so _broken_, you and I. The thread that keeps us together is weathered and worn, but it is not severed. You slip into my lap, your eyes questioning, your expression desperate. You kiss me, the second time, and like the first it _breaks_ me. Your body is warm, too warm, or maybe it's my skin that's burning. There's no one to see, no one to stop us but ourselves as you claim my lips with your own. Your fingers dance a maddening rhythm up my ribs, tracing the contours of scars and discovering new ones.

Too soon, you gasp for breath and pull away, but I don't let you go. Your head tilts back, your pulse racing against my lips, and your taste is something I'd never known I'd yearned for. You say my name, a quick, shuddering gasp. Your tears mingle with mine, and then you're kissing me again, nibbling with your teeth and rocking your hips and I accidentally bust off half the buttons on your blouse when your moan rumbles in my throat.

You laugh, and it's the first time it's sounded _normal_ in months. I don't dare to breathe a word, and you don't let me speak anyway. You're all desparate kisses and hungry hands and we don't stop to think, we don't stop to ask if this is right or wrong, but I want this, I've _always_ wanted this. Your skin is burning too, the only salve the roughness of my hands. You take one, kissing the callouses on my fingers, licking the scars and nuzzling your cheek against my palm.

That means so much to me. You probably don't know, you might never know what that gesture does to me. It fills in my cracks, though it does nothing more than to inflame the fire building inside. It reminds me I'm human, that these hand are good for more than just killing.

You move, wanting us to go to a bedroom, but I stop you. There are only nightmares there, bad memories of bad dreams and if we do this I want it in a place that's both of ours, to add another good memory to so many others. You kiss me gently, fueled by a swell of emotion that drowns us both. My cheeks burn again, and I don't know whose tears they are.

I've always been the one teaching you, showing you things, but this time you're the teacher. You show me how to make you come undone, you teach me with every breathless cry and coiled, trembling muscle. I'm so eager to learn and the shadows in our minds are chased far away.

The sun shines through the front window of the flat. You stir besides me, your hand closing around mine as though you sense my intentions to get up. You look at me imploringly. You're afraid I'm restless, that I want to go.

"I just have to use the loo."

"Oh." Your smile is sheepish as you tuck some hair behind your ear. You need to be reassured, and I finally have the words that you need to hear.

"Right now, for the first time, I feel like I can stop running. I don't know if that will last, but I promise you. I'll _always_ come back to you. No matter where I go or what do."

You let go of my hand and as I head to use the toilet, I hear you hum something that sounds suspiciously like Marvin Gaye's _Sexual Healing_. Your smile brightens when I roll my eyes at you, and I only love you more.

"If only it were that easy," you say, and reach for your camera.

_If only._


	3. The Calm Between the Storms

You're gone a month after we make love that first time. Like my presence and hot hot bod are only enough to keep the storms away for so long. I knew it was coming. _You_ knew it was coming, but you kept looking at me like you wanted me to say something. Like you wanted me to make you stay.

But that wouldn't be fair to you, and I'm not ready to come with you yet. I have things to do. Excuse after excuse and reason after reason that I should stay while you go because I'm so _scared_ of the idea. You let me push you out the door, and when it closes I'm alone, and I don't know if I'll ever see you alive again. But you're where you _belong_. Creeping amongst ruins, sketching ancient languages, sending me back a thousand pictures to try to make sense of and turn into something for the masses to understand. You know I need to help, you know that my voice in your ear keeps you connected to the world.

Then the pictures stop and the weekly calls go silent. I think maybe that you're dead, laying shattered at the bottom of an endless chasm, your eyes staring into nothingness. You invade my dreams in an endless series of gruesome deaths as my imagination runs wild. I slam red bull like it's water, just so I don't have to see you die again.

A thunderstorm batters London the day you return. There's a flash of lightning, and you're standing in the hallway. The hardness in your eyes begins to crumble when you lay eyes on me. There's a new scar on your forehead and you move with a tiger's grace, sweeping me into your arms. I melt into your lips. The thunder rumbles overhead, but the storm is so far away now.

We lay in my bed (not yours, never yours), your fingers playing with strands of my hair, looping them and twirling locks around. The rain patters at the window, but it's light now, and the air smells so fresh and _new_.

It's the calm between the storms. While you were away, the storms raged inside my head, as I know they raged inside yours. But now that you're here, the sun shines through, the weariness lifting off of your shoulders. You've learned to laugh again and the light in your eyes is stronger than ever.

It doesn't last. You can't hold your hands still. Your knee starts to bounce while we eat dinner and you keep looking outside, but you're not _looking_ at anything that I can see. Your eyes are gazing into a place long ago and far away. You lose yourself in books and maps and old scrolls. You can't _escape_ the demons haunting your soul any more.

And then you're gone, and the storms start up again, crashing around in my head and crushing my heart. This happens again, and again. You're here and then you're gone. You're a ship and I'm your harbor, your shelter from the squall but you never stay. You always look at me and look through me, and I know by the hardness in your eyes when you're going to go. It's a fight I'll never win, so I don't even try.

It's breaking me inside. You _can't_ keep doing this to us. Something has to give, and it's not going to be you.


	4. Home Without a Hearth

My feet hit the ground in a steady rhythm, each step jarring my teeth, each stride as long as I can manage. When I'm out here I feel as though I'm free, I feel as though I can escape, but no matter how fast I run or how hard I climb, you're always there out of the corner of my eye. When I make that leap and my fingers scramble at the rocky surface you're screaming for me.

When I loose an arrow into a man's neck I can see you standing next to him. You're not judging. You never judge. You alone understand what we've been through and what drives me, but you're hurting for me.

I can still remember the look on your face when I left last time. You didn't say it, you _never say it_ but you don't want me to go. You want me to yourself. I protect you, I keep the monsters at bay, but you don't understand. I _can't_ stay. I can't be responsible for your healing, just as you can't be responsible for mine. I leave to protect you. I leave to keep us both from hurting. I leave because I can't take you with me. But god, I wish I could, because I don't know if I can come back this time. You make it so _hard_ to leave.

The best days are when it's raining. So are the worse ones. I don't know which today is yet, but as I make the climb back to my camp I think it's the latter. Maybe I'll call you. I could certainly use the sound of your voice. The thought gnaws at me. Am all I doing using you?

I'm not prepared to see you standing there, and I slip in the mud, nearly falling to my knees. You're soaked to the bone even in your expensive jacket, your hair matted down under a baseball cap, but it's unmistakably you.

You smile at me, tiredly, and trundle over. You have no words, just the expression in your eyes and the feel of your body as you sag into my arms. I kiss your forehead, and then your face and finally your lips. Your mouth turns up against mine, and when we look at each other again your face is beaming. It's still raining, but the sun has come out to shine on my heart.

"You weren't going to come back this time." Your voice is pointed, yet your tone is understanding. "I have to get over this. We had so many adventures together before that island. I can keep up. I _can_ keep up."

You sound like you're trying to convince yourself as much as you're trying to convince me. I see the expected camera strap over your chest and tap it with a finger. "Just be sure to capture my good side."

"Anything you want, Lara."

I don't know if you can keep up. I don't even know if you should try. But you're right. I can't go home again, not in the way you need me to. This life is my home now, but without you it's like a home without a hearth. Cold, and lonely. "If I tell you to do something, you have to do it. No questions. Just do it. My life could depend on it."

Your eyes harden, your inner steel shining through. No one but I really knows you well enough to know it's there. Not many people have ever seen it, and when we first met, I'd never have believed it existed. But you're strong, Sam, and I owe it to you to give you this chance.


	5. Stories Written In Blood

You're laying there, bleeding out, and it's all my fault.

What the hell was I thinking? I thought I could keep up. I thought I could do this and for weeks we've managed it. You keep pushing me, pushing harder and harder and I don't know if you're trying to force me to quit or if you really think I can do it, but the first time I don't back down. And then the second time. By the third time there's new respect in your eyes. And a little relief, maybe, cus I know you worry about my safety.

You told me that we might get shot at. I learned to fire a gun, and unlike on Yamatai now I can shoot at a target and hit it on purpose. I'm good with aiming a camera, and I guess a gun isn't much different. My hands don't shake any more. I wonder if that makes me more like you.

I remember, while leaning into your arms, asking you if you loved me any less now. And you asked me if I loved you any less for being a killer. I said no, and you smiled at me and it started to sink in. You always have your subtle ways of sharing how you felt.

It's hot and sticky, and the forest stinks. I pull you back against a tree, and the blood is bubbling up between my fingers. You look at me, glassy-eyed, but your voice is steady. "Sam," you tell me. "Sam, I need your help."

In the weeks and months after the island, I'd crawl into bed with you to chase away the nightwares. Your skin is always warmer than mine, and rougher. I'd touch your scars and you'd tell me how you got each one. And as you added more and more scars, there were more and more stories, until I didn't need to hear them any more, because I was right there, with you. I want this to be a story, I want this to be something we talk about at night, while we lay in a shared sleeping bag beneath the stars and the crickets serenade us.

You grab my wrist, snapping me out of it. I look back into your eyes, and see stubborn purpose. It makes me feel better. "What do you need?"

"Fire. Heat. Hot. Hot as you can get it."

"I'll make it hot as I am," I joke, looking around for something that's not damp or soaked through. I pack your wound with an extra shirt and manage to scrounge up some pathetic twigs, and some moss.

You make a tired, but joyful sound at the moss. "Squeeze that as dry as you can get it. That's what's going to save us."

You're the one that needs to be saved this time, Lara, I think. Then it hits me. You think that if something happens to you, I won't make it back. And maybe that's true and maybe it's not and at first I'm offended because I'm not that helpless, but as I work that fire into life, I catch your eyes again.

I'm the reason you need to survive. It was like that on Yamatai, it's like that now. And if it keeps you going tonight then I'm not going to say no.

We have something better than an arrow. I drop some coins into the fire, then pull one out with some pliers once it's glowing red.

"Best use the reverse side, Sam."

I smirk at you. "Don't want the Queen's face branded on you?" You dig your fingers into my leg as I pull the makeshift bandages back with one hand. I think I need to brace more than you do, before I press the red-hot coin against your wound.

I've never heard you make a sound like that before. It's agonizing to listen to, and I'm glad I'm paying more attention to what I'm doing than I am to your face. When I finally pull the coin off, the bleeding has stopped. Your face looks so peaceful, and I panic before I can see the mist of your breath.

My shoulders start to shake, and I sink down next to you. Your heart beat is fleeting. I don't know if you can hear me. "Lara. I swear. I'll follow you into hell, and I'll drag you kicking and screaming back. You got that?"

"Lara? Lara!"

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_**(A personal note. I'm sorry about the delay in updating my fics. July was horrible. RL personal issues and a death in the family have kind of hit me upside the head. Nothing is abandoned, it's just a matter of getting back into the groove of things! )**_


	6. Weeks, Centuries, Months, Seconds

Hell. Is this the place I've come to? I deserve no less, but your words ring in my ears. You'll follow me anywhere, won't you. I can't escape you. I never _wanted_ to escape you. But you can't come here, Sam. You can't come to this darkness that's enveloped me. A thousand hands tugging me down, down far below. There's screaming in my ears, screaming in my mind. And so many hands clawing at my skin. Cutting me until I bleed.

I hear my name. They're calling my name. Chanting for me. Like they've been waiting, been waiting all along. I suddenly feel every trigger I pulled, every strum of a bowstring, every shocking impact of axe or club.

I'm bleeding out, slowly, the world growing dim. I'm writhing in agony as fire consumes me alive. There's the feeling of a shark's teeth ripping chunks of flesh from my body. And the bullets. So many bullets, burning tearing exploding inside of me.

Every gruesome death I visited upon another. And I deserve this, I know I do. I watch my face as I kill. Fear, then disgust and then anger. I never knew I was so _angry_. I never realized how much I relished the danger, until I could see the satisfaction my own face as I let loose an arrow. It strikes me in the chest and I fall back again, sinking down into blackness.

You can't follow me here. I know you can't. I made sure that the blood that stained my hands couldn't stain yours. And in that I find peace. I find solace. The pain fades. Everything fades. It's darkness, nothingness. This too, I deserve most of all.

I float, endlessly. I wonder if there's a god, or gods. Who was right about the afterlife? I regret that I don't get to see my parents, or Roth. There's no Alex. No Grimm. Just myself and the passage of time.

Days pass. Centuries. Seconds. Months. I start to _long_ for the pain and the torment. At least then I'd feel something. I want to say this is like water. But it's just pure emptiness. There's no sensation. I can't hear or see, I can't feel. I can't even taste my own tongue in my mouth. Maybe my body is gone, rotted away in some wilderness somewhere, with only you to mourn me.

I dream about you. Your face fades from memory. Your name. But I still remember the touch of your fingers. The smell of your breath. The sound of your laugh. Your smile. You're far away, but you're safe and you'll never know this hell. I can fade away into oblivion.

Hands grasp at me and pull. The sudden contact is like the shock of ice water. Air fills my lungs. My fingers and toes tingle as sensation returns. My throat is too dry to form words, but as my vision returns, I find myself laying on some kind of tone slab.

You're kneeling next to me. Your complexion is waxy and your face is drawn with dark bags under your eyes. Blood stains your hands and the sleeves of your jacket. For the first time in millennia (centuries or days or seconds or weeks) my heart pounds in my chest. Your eyes are so dark, like there's a terrible storm raging within.

"I told you," you say. your voice is raspy and your breathing is shallow and your eyes are pained. "I told you I'd bring you back."

I reach for you. Trembling, my fingers touch your clammy cheeks. _What have you done? _


	7. Love is Sacrifice

I feel empty. No, I feel worse than empty. It's like there's something filling the empty parts of my soul. Concrete in my heart. When you look at me, the concrete only gets harder. The empty feels emptier.

"_What have you done_?" You ask me. The catch in your throat should break my heart, but I can't feel a thing. I force a smile on my face and put my hand over yours on my cheek. "I did what I had to. I did what you would have done."

You are already pale, but you turn positively ashen. "No. No Sam, you should _never_ do what I would do."

"It's okay." I take your hand when you pull away, squeezing it tightly. I'm so cold, so _cold_ and I try to take what warmth from you that I can. My own words feel distant, like they're coming from someone else and not me.

You squeeze my hand back, then look me over. "You're bleeding."

"Just a little." I'm trying to assure you. I'm trying to assure _me_. I can't even remember all that I did. The deals that I made, the things I'd given up just to bring you back to me.

The emptiness in my chest turns into a dull ache as I try to remember just why you were so important to me. When you crush me into a hug, a choked sob against my shoulder, it hits me. "Oh."

But that feeling is gone. It must have been something important, but in its place is just numbness. Pain. You lift your head and you look into my eyes, you _really_ look into my eyes. Your smile is as strained as mine is dull. "I understand." And something tells me you really do.

You start a fire, to help fight against the cold. It's not enough to warm me, so I stay close. It's cold inside my chest and my blood feels like ice but you, you're warm, you're fire burning and siphon your warmth to chase the ice away.

The cave we're in is damp and chilly, and the firelight casts ominous shadows on the walls and on your face. You stare into the fire as though contemplating the future. You only speak to ask questions. What I did, what it feels like. I answer them, a dull ache settling into my chest. A yearning for what should be.

But there's no regret. When we sleep, and I watch your chest rise and fall, I feel no regret.

You say you were in hell. You say you were being punished the people you've killed, the things you've done. I can't tell you that wasn't hell. I don't know what you went through or where you were when I found you. But hell. Hell is not like how they describe it in books or show on tv. It's agony and regret and a deathly loneliness that sinks into my very soul. It's watching the woman I love die, slip through my grasp. Its the feeling being ripped apart like paper, just for the chance to bring her back. Bring _you_ back.

It's emptiness. A hollow cavern in my very core. It's staring into your eyes and knowing what I should feel. It's remembering what to say, and how to say it, and knowing that you don't quite believe me.

What have I done, Lara, to bring you back from the afterlife?

My heart for your life. Fair trade, don't you think?


	8. Bitter Hearts Ice Cold

You're so cold. Your skin is like ice, and your eyes are empty of the fire that once burned inside them. There's no one to blame but myself. If I hadn't let you follow me. If I hadn't needed you so desperately, you wouldn't have given up your passion, your flame. You don't tell me. You don't have to tell me. You dragged me out of the abyss and lost a part of yourself in the process.

It wasn't just your love for me that you sacrificed. You hold a camera now, like it's just an object and not an extension of yourself. You only smile when I'm looking at you. You move through the world like the echo of a ghost and that should be me, not you. I'm the ghost, I'm the one that was broken and pieced back together. In the time between life and death and life, the cracks are showing again. I don't have it in me to watch you go through life an empty shell. I never wanted this, and I know it's my fault. My fault for trying to hold onto you, and trying to escape into the world at the same time.

Here, alone with you I pretend to sleep. You lay next to me, staring at the ceiling, staring _through_ the ceiling into the empty space beyond it. Whatever goes through your mind you keep to yourself, a private council I'm no longer privy to. Your breathing changes, growing fast. Something glistens in your eyes, a trail of light down your cheeks. That's _something_. More than you were before and that gives me a spark of hope. I know what I must do.

You watch me pack the next morning, your eyes unfocused as you follow my movements. You don't protest. You don't argue. You remain silent as a stone, and only a little more alive. But you deserve this much. Deserve to watch me go instead of having me flee in the middle of the night. I hesitate at the door, and look back at you. I don't know if I want you to say something, or not.

"Are you coming back?"

"I know what you gave up for me, Sam." I let go of the door, and cross the room in just a few steps. Your hands are cold when I take them with my own. "But I know it's still there. You're still you, deep down where it matters. I'm not going to waste the chance you gave me. I'll come back to you."

It won't be empty handed. All my scars, all the demons nipping at my heels, none of them will stop me from making you whole again. You gave me life; I'll give you your soul back.

My answer seems to satisfy you, but your voice is shaking when you reply. "I know this should hurt. I can't _feel_ it. I love you, but I can't. I want to _hate_ you, but I can't."

"Does that scare you?" Your admission is a relief to me. That you're willing to share it with me. That you're willing to acknowledge it.

Your voice shakes. "I think so."

I study you, the quiver in your lips, the moisture in your eyes. There's emotion there, buried deep. It's something.

"Are you running away?"

"I'm not running, Sam. Some day you'll be whole again, and that's what matters most to me. And if you… if you want to _hate_ me, I can live with that."

I turn away from you. A choked sound follows me to the door, and when I close it behind me I hear your muffled sobs. I love you. I don't deserve you. I ran away for so long, searching for the pieces to put myself back together. You were one of those pieces all along. And when I fill that hole in your heart, it will be worth it to see you whole, even if you hate me.


End file.
